Reluctant Queen
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: Princess Michiko of Arcolos panics at an imminent life change and wonders where to go from here. Follows 'The Escape Artist'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _My thanks once again to my readers and reviewers…There is a glancing reference in Chapter 2 to the special half-hour episode "Possessed" which aired 11/22/1979. Enjoy!

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_§ § § -- August 18, 1998

"Oh wow," murmured Leslie, tipping forward in her seat on a quiet Tuesday evening. She was in the TV room upstairs at the main house, watching the evening news, and the announcement had just been made. She completely forgot the bowl of grapes she had been snacking on and stared fascinated at the set.

"…_We repeat, King Androno of Arcolos is dead at age 72. This news was just released this afternoon; we are told that the funeral and burial have already taken place in private, with only the king's sons, daughters-in-law and grandchildren in attendance. The official press release from the palace states that Prince Errico, the firstborn son of Androno, will be officially crowned king of Arcolos on September 2, picking up where his late father left off. Once again, King Androno of Arcolos died on August 13 of a heart attack…"_

Roarke appeared in the doorway then. "What has you so riveted, Leslie?"

She twisted in her seat and rapidly explained what she had just heard. "I guess this means eventually we're going to have to address Michiko as Her Majesty, Queen of Arcolos," she remarked with a little smile.

"Indeed," said Roarke and returned the smile. "Well, unless I miss my guess, you'll probably be receiving an invitation to the coronation ceremony in the next several days."

"That'd be fun," Leslie said. Then a thought occurred to her and she smiled wistfully. "In fact, I hope I do—there's a good chance I might see Christian there."

Roarke chuckled and patted her shoulder. "Perhaps, perhaps. Oh, by the way, Leslie, tomorrow evening I have a lengthy island council meeting to attend, so it's likely that I won't return until very late. If that is in fact the case, don't wait up for me; just go on to bed at the usual hour. You need not leave a light on."

"Oh, you know I will," Leslie said affectionately. "I mean, as far as I know, the ability to see in the dark isn't one of your attributes, unless you happen to be part cat somewhere in your distant ancestry." She grinned at him.

"Impertinent child," Roarke teased, making her laugh. "Very well. I don't expect anything unusual, as befits mid-week, so you should have a quiet night."

Leslie nodded. "Sounds fine," she said. Roarke left the room and she settled back onto the sofa, letting herself daydream a little about meeting up with Christian at the coronation. It had already been nearly a year since they had last seen each other, so the thought was a heady one. _I guess we'll see,_ she thought hopefully.

§ § § -- August 19, 1998

Roarke left for the island council meeting just after supper, and Leslie helped Mariki clear the table, a little unnerved by the weather. All day it had been a little unsettled, even though the only real sign of approaching inclemency was the presence of high, feathery cirrus clouds. Over the last hour or two these had finally been supplanted by some serious-looking dark overcast. Mariki peered at the sky from under the porch. "I appreciate the help, Miss Leslie," she said humorously, "although I have to question your reason for doing it. I thought you were over all that storm foolishness."

Leslie rewarded her with a supremely dirty look. "If you must know, that 'foolishness' only got worse after I experienced that tornado," she said sourly. "I went into that situation thinking no mere thunderstorm could scare me after going through a tornado, and instead I set myself back to the point that the merest whisper of thunder in the middle of the night wakes me out of a sound sleep—even though it's been almost two and a half years."

Mariki shook her head, _tsk_'ing in mock concern. "You're too old to let a little storm scare you, Miss Leslie," she scolded. "You really ought to talk to Mr. Roarke about it. I'm sure he has some cure for you."

"None he'd let me make any use of," Leslie said. "He'd only tell me I have to get past it myself and that there's no miracle solution. Come on, quit yakking and let's get these things loaded up. Seriously, I heard earlier that there's supposed to be a whopper of a storm coming in, and I want you to get safely home before it breaks." Her voice was clipped with worry as she spoke, briskly stacking dishes on the serving cart.

Mariki knew why. "Mr. Roarke'll be just fine," she said. "Don't you worry." Leslie only offered a quick, uneasy smile, and Mariki dropped the subject.

A few minutes later she wheeled the cart away to the kitchen, and Leslie pushed the chairs under the table and ducked into the house. Of all the nights for a storm to come in, it had to be the night of the monthly island council meeting. She crossed the study and pulled the French shutters securely closed, exerting some effort to do so. A few years ago Roarke had replaced the old folding shutters with sturdy, heavy ones that were designed to withstand storms, so Leslie felt a little more secure; but she wasn't too thrilled with the prospect of being alone in the house for the better part of the evening. At the moment it was still quiet, but her nervous anticipation was causing her subconscious to plague her with minor storm hallucinations. She kept thinking she saw lightning every time she glanced too quickly out the window, and her ears continuously strained for the sound of thunder.

She was typing out a long e-mail to Christian, confessing her fears and ridiculing them for his benefit, when the phone rang and scared her nearly through the ceiling. She let out a frustrated curse and went to pick it up, her hand trembling. "Yes?"

"Miss Leslie, this is the Fantasy Island Airport," said the voice on the other end. "We just got the day's last charter plane on radar, and it's still almost an hour out. That storm they've been predicting is headed in at a pretty good clip—we can already see lightning from this end of the island. It's gonna be a close call as to whether the plane will beat the storm in here. We're advising landing at another point and waiting out the weather, but they want to know what Mr. Roarke thinks."

"I don't know," Leslie said, her gaze perversely straying to the window but still seeing nothing. "He's at the island council meeting and expects it to run late."

"Oh, damn," groaned the voice. "Is there any way you can reach him?"

"I doubt it," Leslie said. "It's my understanding there are some pretty heavy issues being discussed—I do know for a fact that it's a closed meeting. How many passengers are on the charter, do you know?"

"Only three," came the reply. "But that's still three too many."

Leslie thought about it for a moment. "Can you make any kind of estimate as to how far away the storm looks from your vantage point?"

There was a pause. "Well, from here we're seeing lightning just on the horizon, but the weather reports say it should be hitting Fantasy Island within an hour. You might want to keep an ear out yourself, Miss Leslie."

"I'll do that," she said with resolve. "Listen, call me about every fifteen minutes with updates—where the plane is on your radar and how much progress the storm seems to have made. If it looks like the storm's winning the race, tell the pilot to touch down at Kingman Reef and batten down the hatches. Otherwise, let him come on in and tell him to put on all the speed he can."

"Roger that, Miss Leslie, and thanks. Talk to you in fifteen," the voice said and hung up. Leslie put the receiver back on the hook and wandered to the window, anxiously scanning the sky. All she needed was another thing to worry about. Heaving a sigh, she went back to the computer and resumed composing her message to Christian.

The next time the phone rang, she all but held her breath. "What's the situation?"

"Seems to be holding off so far, Miss Leslie. Stick with the status quo?"

"Yup. How far out is the charter now?"

"About thirty-five minutes. He's gone to max speed—says it'll be chancy with the fuel, but he'll give it a shot. We'll keep you posted." She agreed and broke the connection. Then it was back to the computer, where she checked for a new message from Christian. So far he hadn't replied; she glanced at the clock and realized he was probably having breakfast right about now.

By the time the next update came in, she herself was beginning to see lightning out the windows. "Please tell me the plane's almost here," she said nervously.

"He's looking at fifteen minutes to the plane dock. By the way, Miss Leslie, he says don't come meet him or the passengers. We've already sent a vehicle out there to take the arrivals to shelter, but he doesn't want any unnecessary personnel out there. Once we get the radio report, we'll call you and let you know they're in."

"It'll be close," Leslie said. "I see lightning from here. Wait till they get in before you call again." The airport acknowledged this and hung up; a few seconds later the phone rang again and she grabbed it. "Main house…"

"Hello, Leslie, are things all right over there?" asked Roarke's voice.

"We're hoping so." Swiftly she summarized the situation with the charter plane. "By the time they call again, the plane should be in—I hope."

"That's quite a risk the pilot is taking," Roarke said, his voice taut with what sounded to Leslie like anger. "Is the airport very certain he will get in ahead of that storm?"

"They just told me he's about fifteen minutes out," Leslie said. "I'm starting to see lightning now, but so far that's it. They seem pretty optimistic that he'll beat the weather. If he doesn't—" She winced and said reluctantly, "It's likely to be my fault. I was the one who gave the go-ahead for him to come in if it looked like he could outpace the storm."

"Not necessarily," said Roarke. "You told me that you advised the airport to have the plane land at Kingman Reef if the weather changed quickly, so he had that option. It was the pilot's choice to make the run for Fantasy Island. We're on a short break at the moment, but there is a receptionist here. When you get the final word on the plane, call the council house and leave a message. The number here is 335."

"Okay, I will, Father. But what about you? The council house is down near the high school, for heaven's sake. By the time that meeting ends, the storm will be in full swing."

"I'll remain on this side of the island. There are several empty guest houses down here, and I'll take shelter in one of those. Try not to worry, Leslie. You're doing a fine job. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"All right, good night, Father." Leslie hung up and let out a huge sigh, then ventured as close to a window as she dared. Lightning flickered long enough to reveal the silhouettes of trees beginning to sway in the gradually rising wind. She bit her lip and checked once more for a message from Christian; this time he had answered, and she quickly read his reassurances. _"Don't worry too much if you can help it, Leslie Rose,"_ he concluded. _"After all, there's only so much you can do. Just remember, I'm with you in spirit. Let me know tonight—tomorrow morning for you—how it all worked out. I love you."_

Leslie smiled. Christian was well aware of her silly storm phobia, but he took it in stride, for which she was grateful. She wrote a quick message back: _"Thanks for trying to make me feel better. I think it helped a bit. The storm is moving in quickly, so I guess I'd better go for now. I love you too…have a good day."_ She added her name at the end, sent the message, signed off and shut down the computer. After that, about all she was capable of doing was pacing the room in wide circles, trying to avoid looking out the window, and willing the telephone to ring with good news.

The grandfather clock was quietly ringing out 9:30 when the phone sounded off for the last time. Now there was thunder as well as lightning, and the wind was beginning to whistle around the corners of the house. Leslie grabbed the receiver in the middle of the first ring. "Yes?"

"They just landed, Miss Leslie, and everyone's fine. From here we can handle things with no problem. They'll tie down the plane at the dock, since the lagoon should provide a little protection."

"Oh, thank you…what an incredible relief. You guys get home now, all right?"

There was a laugh on the other end. "We're shutting things down as I speak. Take care and keep dry, and thanks."

"Thank you," Leslie repeated, and broke the connection with a tension-killing laugh. She held the button down for a moment, then let go and punched out 335. She left a message for Roarke with the council-house receptionist, then set about closing down the study for the night, her hands shaking from her immense relief.

She was about to douse the desk lamp when there came a frantic pounding on the door. Unable to fathom who it could possibly be, she half-ran across the room and pulled open the inner door, then the outside door to the veranda, and stared at the new arrival.

"Michiko Tokita Bartolomé, what're you doing here?" she shouted in shock.

"I just got here," Michiko yelled back, over the noise of wind and thunder, and shot a terrified glance into the sky. "Please, just let me in, Leslie—I'll explain in a minute."


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- August 19, 1998

Leslie grabbed her and tugged her into the outer foyer, shoved the door closed and locked it. "Of all the people I might have thought would drop in on me in a storm, it sure wasn't you," she said frankly. "I can't wait to hear what your story is. Come on, let's go up to my room. I was about to call it quits for the night, so you're just in time."

"We were on the charter, and I was afraid we wouldn't make it," Michiko admitted, lifting a suitcase in each hand and following Leslie into the study. "There were two other people besides me—both of them natives trying to get home to their families—and we could hear every word of every communication between the cockpit and the Fantasy Island tower. When the pilot heard that you'd said to land at Kingman Reef if the storm came in too fast, he said there was no way he was landing there. He wouldn't say why, just flat-out refused. I have a feeling he thought it was something personal. That fool."

Leslie softened and smiled at her. "Well, whatever you're doing here, I'm really glad to see you." She and Michiko hugged each other. "Come on up to my room. What brought you here, as opposed to your parents' house? And where are Errico and the kids? You have an awful lot of explaining to do."

"I know I do," Michiko said through a heavy sigh. "If you'll give me a chance to settle down a little bit, I promise I'll tell you everything. Where's Mr. Roarke?"

"At the island council meeting," said Leslie. "It's a closed meeting, so I suspect there's a lot on the table, and he doesn't expect to be back here tonight." She turned out the desk lamp and led the way upstairs, guided by the light she had left on in the hallway.

"Oh dear," said Michiko. "I hope he can find somewhere to stay tonight." Coming into Leslie's room, they could hear the sound of heavy rain on the roof. "Obviously I made it here none too soon. That storm looked horrible, Leslie. I've never been that scared in my life. I couldn't bear to look out the windows on the plane."

"I don't blame you," said Leslie. "So, as I said…how'd you wind up here?"

Michiko put down the suitcases and stepped out of her shoes, closing her eyes and wiggling her toes. "Ah, that feels better. Well, to begin with, I'm here because my parents' house is already full. Toki and his wife and stepchildren were to come in from Hawaii this morning, and Kiichiro and Kayoko arrived yesterday with their children, according to an e-mail Mother sent me. They've taken up all the bedrooms, so there's no place for me."

"Oh. What's the occasion?" Leslie asked curiously.

"None as far as I know," Michiko said. "I guess they just somehow happened to come in for visits all at the same time. As for me…well, I had a different excuse." Her eyes darted nervously around the room, and Leslie took pity on her friend.

"Listen, before you get started, let's settle in for the night. You can stay here—we have a futon in the TV room, with the thickest mattress we could buy. Why don't we put your bags in there, and then we can crawl into comfy pajamas and have a little slumber party." She grinned. "Heck, we're the only ones here—we'll even raid the kitchen."

Michiko laughed. "You've talked me into it. Thanks, Leslie, I really appreciate this."

Twenty minutes later, dressed in their favorite sleepwear and armed with snacks and lemonade from the kitchen, Leslie and Michiko set up the futon and put fresh sheets and a light blanket on it. They made themselves comfortable atop the mattress and each leaned against a pillow. "Okay, enough stalling," Leslie said teasingly. "What brings you all the way to Fantasy Island in this godawful weather?"

Michiko's mood faded to gray and her face lost its animation. "I'm sure you've heard by now that Errico's father died last week," she said, and Leslie nodded. "Of course, that means Errico will become the new king, and the coronation ceremony will be in about two weeks. It's a time of mixed feelings for everyone. The children miss their grandfather, and Errico and his brothers are both grieving for their father; but at the same time, Errico really is looking forward to assuming the crown. He has quite a raft of ideas to bring Arcolos into step with the times and get it ready for the twenty-first century. The first thing he wants to do is get the airport updated and buy new aircraft, and then…"

"Michiko," Leslie interrupted gently.

Michiko blushed. "Yes, yes, I'm rambling. I guess I'm just stalling." Leslie nodded, smiling, and she quirked a corner of her mouth in response. "Well, as you undoubtedly also know, Errico's coronation will also be mine, and I'll be the queen. And…well, to tell you the truth, Leslie, I'm scared to death. I'm not ready to be a queen!"

"Well, you can't continue to be a princess," Leslie teased her, chuckling. "It'd look kind of silly if the king were married to a princess."

Michiko's mood wasn't improved by her gentle joshing. "I don't think I can handle the strain. If I thought I was in the spotlight before…oh God, just wait. You can have as many princes and princesses per country as you want—but there can be only one king and one queen. And imagine the burden you have to carry as a ruling monarch. All the decisions you have to make as head of state—even with the parliamentary government—after all, they can draw up laws and propose taxes and new legislature and whatever else, but nothing becomes official till it has the king's signature on it. If the legislature in question affects primarily, or only, women, then it's the queen whose signature seals the deal. That's how the Arcolosian constitution is written up, so that the monarchy isn't reduced to a group of figureheads who do nothing but attend state functions and look pretty at major events."

"I see," said Leslie, biting into a plum.

"No, I don't think you do. How can you?" Michiko asked. "Very few people on this planet are ever in a position to experience being royalty. It's not something you can talk to someone about and have them really understand—most people still think being royal is a purely glamorous thing. And for me, so far, it has been, for the most part. I traveled every now and then, ran my charity and oversaw several others, went to state functions and often represented Arcolos, along with Errico, at assorted events in other countries. For example, we were here when Christian wangled his wedding reception here on the island, as I know you remember…and we represented Arcolos at Princess Diana's funeral in England last year. Things like that. Being a princess is relatively easy, at least on Arcolos. But being queen is something else again. I'm not sure I'm cut out for it. It just sort of dropped on me like…like, uh…" She floundered for words, and as if making an enthusiastic suggestion, the storm responded with an audible crack from a bolt of lightning, followed instantly by a deafening explosion of thunder that rattled the entire house on its foundation. Leslie and Michiko shrieked in tandem and then burst into nervous laughter at themselves. "Well, it dropped in on me like that, I guess. What a pair we are," Michiko joked shakily.

Leslie giggled. "You said it," she agreed, getting to her feet and peering into the back porch through the rectangular window on the back wall. This gave her a view of a sort of sun room, set off by this dividing wall and with a door on the near end. The two outer walls were all windows, and there were wicker papasan chairs scattered around, along with a few small round tables and some Japanese lanterns for illumination. Lightning flared again and pulsed like a mammoth strobe light, throwing the furniture into stark relief, before dying and giving way to the resulting thunder.

She dropped back onto the futon and Michiko peered at her worriedly. "What about Mr. Roarke?" she asked.

"He told me he'll take shelter in one of the guest houses down that end of the island," Leslie said. "I'm not worried about that—I just hope the meeting got out before the storm really kicked in so that he could safely _get_ to one of those houses. This thing's probably in for the night, and I have a feeling we'll be up till dawn. Might as well make an event of it."

"I'm for that," said Michiko. "Right now I just want to forget about everything for a little while—please. I'm home, and I want to enjoy it at least for a few days."

Leslie regarded her a bit askance for a moment, convinced there was much more to Michiko's story than she had revealed so far, but decided in the end to let it rest till later. "Okay, we'll steer clear of serious stuff, then," she said. "Hey, we're out of grapes. Are you brave enough to make another trip with me to the kitchen?"

"All for one and one for all," Michiko said, getting into the jesting spirit. "If you go down with the ship, then so will I. What are friends for?"

"Then let's set sail," Leslie said, and the two women made their way downstairs, jumping and squawking at every boom of thunder and then laughing, all the way to the kitchen and back. However unusual Michiko's presence on the island, Leslie reflected, she was very glad to have her friend there.

§ § § -- August 20, 1998

The following morning Leslie opened her eyes and was amazed to realize she'd slept after all. It was still raining, but the worst of the storm had finally blown itself out and it was blessedly quiet. More importantly, the house was still standing. Leslie chuckled at her own thoughts and slipped out of bed, dressing in a green tank top and white shorts, then settling down at her bedroom computer long enough to send Christian a message containing a thorough update. She left out mention of Michiko for the moment, merely telling him that the charter had arrived safely. After she finished, she got up and peeked in on Michiko, who was still sound asleep. Leslie left the TV-room door ajar and glanced at the other end of the hall, where the door to Roarke's room was closed as usual. Wondering if he had come back yet, she padded down the stairs, only to find the study deserted.

She was opening the shutters at the windows when she detected noises from the kitchen and grinned, somewhat relieved. It meant Mariki and the rest of the kitchen staff had arrived, and that signaled a return to normalcy. Eager for company, she headed in that direction and greeted Mariki and the others.

"Gracious, you're up early, Miss Leslie," Mariki said. "It's as well; I wanted to ask you something. Was there an intruder here last night? There's an awful lot of fruit missing."

Leslie drew herself up short and then grinned sheepishly. "Oops. No, that was us. My friend Michiko was on the last charter plane and had nowhere else to stay—her parents' house is filled with relatives. So she came over here. We turned it into a kind of slumber party, and I guess we got a little carried away. Sorry about that."

"Oh…then never mind, don't worry about it. I presume Mr. Roarke stayed down the other end of the island. Breakfast, Miss Leslie?"

"It can wait till Father gets back," Leslie said, shrugging.

"He is back," they heard Roarke's voice from the doorway, and Leslie swung around, lighting up. Mariki and the kitchen staff greeted Roarke in chorus, and he smiled and nodded at them.

"Hi, Father! Where'd you wind up sleeping last night?" Leslie asked, going over to hug him. He chuckled and returned the embrace.

"In a guest cottage on the westernmost point of the island," said Roarke. "One you might remember from the time we banished a certain demon."

"You mean Karakia?" Leslie asked and shuddered. "That was a nasty one."

Mariki spoke up, "Well, he did an excellent job. Won't have to worry about that one for another millennium or so. Do you have a preference for breakfast this morning, sir?"

"No, nothing in particular; the menu is yours to compile," Roarke said. "I do find that I am quite ravenous: there was no food in the cottage. Thank you, Mariki."

"Of course, sir. Half an hour," Mariki promised, and Roarke nodded again and ushered Leslie back down the hallway to the study.

"So, after the final charter arrived in safety," he remarked as he stepped behind the desk to check the few phone messages Leslie had collected the previous evening, "how did you fare? Obviously you managed to survive the storm."

Leslie shrugged. "Oh…well, I had a little help," she said.

Roarke looked up. "Indeed? How's that?"

A soft yawn from the stairway caught their attention and Roarke leaned forward slightly, as if unable to believe his eyes. "Princess Michiko?" he exclaimed.

Michiko descended the steps, smiling a little shyly. She was dressed but barefoot, like Leslie. "Good morning, Mr. Roarke, it's good to see you. Hi, Leslie."

"Sleep okay?" Leslie asked.

"Like a child," Michiko said and grinned.

"Excuse me, ladies," Roarke said, "but I seem to have been left out of the loop, as you might say. When did you arrive, Michiko?"

"Last night," Michiko admitted. "I was on that last charter that barely made it in before the storm hit. I would have gone to my parents, but they're already dealing with two of my siblings and their families. They didn't have any more spare bedrooms, and I knew it was far too short notice to get a room at Julie's bed and breakfast. So I came here, and Leslie let me stay the night. We were up quite late because of the storm."

"I see," Roarke said. "Or at least, I see part of it. What brings you back to Fantasy Island on the short notice you mentioned?"

Michiko glanced at Leslie and blushed. "I'm afraid it's a long story."

"In that case, and since you appear to be our houseguest on Leslie's invitation," said Roarke good-naturedly, "we can save it for breakfast." His mien shifted slightly and he added, "We were all very sorry to hear of King Androno's passing."

"Thank you, Mr. Roarke. I think it's the children who are grieving the hardest. My father-in-law was their last surviving grandparent, and they don't know my mother and father at all. The funeral was limited to just Errico and me and the children, Carlono, and Mattéano and Reiko. We didn't want to have to plan a massive state funeral, since it would have been very hard on the children."

"Understandable," Roarke said. "Nevertheless, we did send a sympathy note to the palace once the news was officially released. I understand that Prince Errico is to be crowned king within weeks."

Michiko nodded pensively and looked away, her delicate features clouding over. "Yes," she murmured. Roarke looked at Leslie, who compressed her lips and gave him a guilty look from under her bangs; he raised his eyebrows but didn't pursue the subject. Instead he asked about Reiko, who had married Errico's youngest brother, Mattéano, and was rewarded with an unusually enthusiastic narrative.

Mariki came out a little later and announced, "Breakfast, Mr. Roarke and Miss Leslie. Oh, excuse me, Princess, I didn't realize you were still here." She caught Michiko's distressed look and smiled. "Not to worry, there's more than Mr. Roarke and Miss Leslie can eat. You can have all you like."

"Did you forget Mariki always makes enough for three times as many people as we have?" Leslie teased her friend on their way to the little-used dining room near the kitchen. "Don't be shy. If you're hungry, go ahead and eat."

"This is what happens when a girl's away from home for too many years," Michiko said in a tone that was meant to be kidding, but carried an undertone of something more serious. Again Roarke caught it and glanced at her, but he waited till they were all seated and Mariki had dispensed the dishes and retreated with the serving cart.

"Perhaps I am prying, Michiko," he said kindly, "but I suspect you are not here merely for a visit home. Are you willing to discuss it?"

Michiko stared at him, then gave Leslie a resigned look accompanied by a wistful grin. "I really have been away too long, forgetting how perceptive your father is," she said, producing an answering grin from Leslie. She turned to Roarke and asked, "How on earth did you figure it out?"

"Body language, for one thing," Roarke told her humorously, "and your timing for another. Arcolos is in a time of extraordinary upheaval, with one king having just passed on and another preparing for coronation. Something more has brought you back here than a mere wish to catch up with your family and friends, hasn't it?"

His gently prodding manner crumbled Michiko's defenses, and she hung her head, nodding. "Leslie already knows some of this; she insisted last night that I explain what I was doing here. I…well, it's all so sudden. I'm not sure I'm ready to become a queen."

Roarke stopped eating and regarded her with an expression that neither Leslie nor Michiko could quite decipher. After a moment he said, "That's all?"

"Father, maybe she just needs a break," Leslie suggested. "With everything that's been going on and all these changes taking place…"

"Perhaps, Leslie," Roarke said, "but I believe there is a great deal more to this than Michiko may have told even you." He refocused on the young princess, who now wore a trapped look. "Trite though it may sound, it's true all the same: you'll feel better if you talk about it. Even if we cannot help, the problem will be out in the open."

When Michiko looked up again at last, there were tears in her eyes. "You're right, Mr. Roarke, it _is_ more than that. I'm so frightened of becoming queen, I don't even know whether I want to remain part of the royal family at all!"


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- August 20, 1998

Roarke fielded Leslie's shocked look with a surprised one of his own before they both turned back to Michiko. "Are you saying you are considering leaving Errico?" Roarke asked.

Michiko burst into tears. "It's killing me, Mr. Roarke," she wailed. "I love Errico, and the last thing in the world I want to do is leave him. But how I wish he had been one of the younger sons instead of the firstborn!" She fumbled for her napkin and tried to blot some of the tears away. "The more time passes by, the more homesick I'm finding I get. I seldom get back to Fantasy Island at all, and I miss my friends and my family, and everything I grew up with—things and people I've known all my life. I don't have the freedom that comes with being a private citizen…but I could deal with all that as long as I was just a princess. Now that I'm going to be queen…" Fear flashed across her face and she shook her head violently, shying away from the concept almost as if it were a tangible thing.

Leslie gave Michiko another cloth napkin and squeezed her friend's hand. "Calm down, Michiko. Listen, tell me one thing—does Errico know you're here?"

Michiko nodded, mopping her face. "Yes, he knows I've come here, but he doesn't know why. I…I'm afraid I deceived him."

"How so?" asked Roarke, with curiosity rather than censure.

"My mother and I e-mail each other almost every day," Michiko explained, her voice a little thick with leftover tears. "She mentioned a few messages back that she'd managed to come down with a cold that wouldn't go away. At that point I was desperate for even the smallest excuse to justify coming home, so I exaggerated the problem. I blew up Mother's cold into influenza for Errico's benefit and insisted I had to get to her right away, and he immediately agreed. In fact, he himself drove me to the airport and handed me onto the royal jet." Her tears welled up and spilled over again. "I'm such a horrible person!"

"Oh, Michiko, you are not," Leslie scolded, trying to hold back a laugh. "One instance of exaggeration is enough—let's not cast aspersions on your entire character."

Roarke smiled. "Leslie is right, Michiko. Within all of us is an instinctive 'fight-or-flight' response to a threatening or overwhelming situation, and you responded to that instinct—in this case, you fled." He set his plate aside for the moment and leaned forward. "You merely did what anyone else would have done: you sought sanctuary in the familiar. That's nothing to be ashamed of."

Michiko heaved a shuddering sigh and dabbed at her eyes again. "Maybe not, but I feel so guilty for doing that to him. But he wouldn't understand the real reason. He's a born royal, with all the self-importance and isolation from ordinary people that such a thing entails. Errico is literally incapable of imagining being anything else. I don't mean that he's prejudiced; he loves his people and wants all the best for them. But if you asked him to try to put himself in their shoes and be just another face in the crowd, he would be utterly unable to do it. It's an alien concept to him. So he would never be able to grasp the idea that I might want to go back to being just plain old Michiko Tokita."

"Ah," said Roarke with understanding. "And it's your fear that you will incur his wrath by confessing even your, uh, 'white lie'…not to mention your homesickness and your suppressed longing to lead a private life once more."

Michiko nodded. "That's it in a nutshell, I guess. I just don't know what on earth I'm going to do, Mr. Roarke. All I know is, I need a substantial break from the whole dog-and-pony show. Just for a few days, I'd like to not have to deal with the problem—I just want to enjoy being home again. Is that asking too much, Mr. Roarke?"

"For a few days?…no," Roarke said slowly, settling back in his chair with a look of mild concern. "But I remind you that you have very little time in which to make your decision. The coronation is in a mere thirteen days. Before too much time passes, you must resolve to take a little time alone and think things over very, very carefully."

"I will," Michiko said with false assertion. Her gaze slid away from his and lit on Leslie, to whom she repeated, "I will."

Leslie eyed her mock-sternly. "You better. And if you don't, I'll see to it that you do."

"I already have a conscience, Leslie Hamilton," Michiko riposted with a sudden flare of her usual good spirits. "I'm not going to have you supplementing it."

Roarke and Leslie began to laugh, and Michiko joined in a few beats late. "In that case, I hope you will get the maximum enjoyment out of the next several days," Roarke said. "Perhaps it will ultimately help make your decision easier. I wish you luck."

‡ ‡ ‡

After breakfast Leslie managed to arrange to have all their friends meet them at the pond restaurant for lunch, and when the appointed hour came she drove herself and Michiko there through what was now a light drizzle. The weather had kept most tourists indoors, so the lunch "rush" was really no such thing, and there were only two or three other occupied tables in the building when they came in. Leslie grinned when she saw that the others had all arrived before they did. Michiko gasped aloud.

"How is it you _all_ managed to get here?" she exclaimed and laughed happily as Myeko, Maureen, Camille and Lauren got out of their seats and took turns hugging her. Tabitha, a little shy, smiled up at her, but Michiko pulled her out of her seat and hugged her too. "This is wonderful. And I see we have a new member of our group."

Leslie nodded. "This is Katsumi Miyamoto. Katsumi, this is our friend Michiko—she's Reiko Tokita's sister."

Katsumi nodded and arose. "I am happy to meet you, Princess."

Michiko rolled her eyes. "I don't want to be a princess while I'm here," she said, fiercely enough to prompt surprised glances among their friends. "I'm only Michiko, do you understand?" She didn't wait for their reactions but instead smiled brightly at Katsumi. "I'm happy to meet you as well, Katsumi. I've heard so many nice things about you!"

Katsumi slid a curiously sly glance in Leslie's direction. "Has Leslie said to you that I have learned very much English?"

"Of course, she said you're doing very well," Michiko said.

"Oh, then you should not listen to her. She is a liar," Katsumi said, and everyone burst out laughing. On that merry note the eight friends gathered around the table and broke into a frenzy of chattering, catching up with Michiko and updating her on themselves. They barely noticed the waitress pause to take their orders and had to be alerted by Michiko; even then they all merely ordered coffee or soft drinks and waved away the idea of lunch. In the course of their rambling conversation, Katsumi soon discovered that Michiko was still fluent in Japanese, and it didn't take long before they had a completely separate conversation going from that of their other friends.

After around an hour of earnest catching up, a lull fell in the talk and the girls realized they were hungry after all. After ordering lunch, Maureen leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. "So what brings you back to Fantasy Island now, Michiko? I mean, your timing is…well, let's call it unusual."

Michiko's suddenly nervous gaze swept rapidly around the table. "I suppose so," she said. "But…"

Camille, as always, got right to the crux of the matter. "Maureen's right. With Errico about to be crowned king, you gotta be incredibly busy right now. So how'd you manage to hop a plane and get over here? Is something wrong? Don't feel like being a queen yet?"

Michiko blanched, eliciting gasps from the others and making Camille's eyes go wide. Leslie sighed, audibly enough to catch their attention. "Leslie, do you know anything?" asked Tabitha.

Leslie glanced at Michiko, who nodded and let her gaze drop to her glass of tea. "To begin with," Leslie said, "Michiko got in last night, barely ahead of the storm, and stayed over at the main house. Father got back this morning, and we all had breakfast together. It's true—she's very nervous about becoming queen. Problem is, Errico doesn't realize it. He thinks she's here because Mrs. Tokita has the flu."

"News to me," Myeko said. "My mother saw her just a few days ago and she looks just fine. What'd you do, Michiko, run away from home?"

Her teasing tone finally brought a laugh from Michiko. "You could call it that, I guess. But to me, it was more like running away _to_ home."

The women looked at one another again, and Lauren said, "Uh-oh. Sounds serious."

"I'm terrified of becoming Queen of Arcolos," Michiko confessed frankly, sounding relieved, as if she'd been waiting for the chance to unload on sympathetic ears. "It was a little overwhelming for me when I first became princess, and even now I'm not completely used to it. I guess to fit comfortably in the role of royalty, you have to be born into it, or at least reasonably close—you know, like British nobility or something. But I wasn't, and to this day I wake up most days being amazed that I can call myself a royal. But I've grown into it about as much as I can ever hope to. And I have to admit that being a princess carries a good bit of clout. If I see an injustice anywhere, I have the power to fix it."

"So then, being queen can only be a good thing, right?" Maureen suggested.

"Well, you might think of it that way. But being queen to me only means that much more scrutiny. I don't know. I mean…I've been a public figure to some extent ever since I broke through with my first album. But this is just too much."

"Grace Kelly handled it pretty well, as I recall," Camille said.

"There are some fundamental differences there," Leslie pointed out. "First, Grace Kelly was born into a very rich family and was used to being treated with deference anyway. And second, she was never a queen—she became a princess when she married Rainier, but he still isn't a king and she certainly wasn't queen of Monaco."

Michiko nodded. "Thank you, Leslie, you're right. I just need a break from all the madness that's going on in Arcolos right now." She frowned. "Could we talk about something else? I'm trying to forget the whole thing for at least a few days."

Tabitha propped her chin on her fist, grinned and said, "Okay, here's a question for you, then. Is your stepdaughter still bothering you about having a baby?"

That generated a laugh, and Michiko looked deeply relieved to have the topic shifted to less disturbing ground. Leslie glanced at her and gave a quiet sigh. She might be able to get away with distracting their friends; but even if Michiko stayed at the main house for the duration of her time on Fantasy Island, she would still have to talk to her family. And Leslie knew that family never lets one get away with the things that friends do.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- August 22, 1998

Shortly before lunchtime, when the weekend's fantasies were well under way and there was the usual midday-Saturday lull, Michiko poked her head into the open French shutters. "Mr. Roarke? Leslie? I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Not at all, Michiko—come in," Roarke invited, and Michiko stepped into the study, looking at loose ends. "What can we do for you?"

"I was thinking more like what I might be able to do for you," Michiko said in a hopeful, hesitant voice. "I've done all the sitting around I can stand to do, and I thought if you needed any kind of help…"

Leslie grinned. "What's this, you need a job?" she teased.

"Something like that," Michiko said and chuckled sheepishly. "I guess I'm just looking for some company. The other girls have plans, and Katsumi's working at the teahouse, of course." Something occurred to her and she brightened. "Maybe I could sing at the luau tonight. Do you think that would be all right?"

"That's a splendid idea, Michiko," Roarke said, echoing Leslie's enthusiastic nod. "I have no doubt our guests will find it an extremely pleasant surprise."

"Absolutely," Leslie concurred. "Look, why don't you have lunch with us, and then come with me after. I have to go check on the setup for the luau anyway, and it would be the perfect time to make arrangements for whatever musicians and instruments you think you'll need. Not only that, you'll want to decide what you're going to sing."

Michiko nodded, looking much happier. "Wonderful!"

Roarke cleared his throat and both girls turned their attention to him. "Forgive me, Michiko, but I must ask. Have you spoken at all with your family?"

"Oh…yes, I did," Michiko said, her sunny expression darkening. "I know I've told you this before, Mr. Roarke, but my parents are very traditional. I had to gloss over my reasons for being here just as I did with Errico. The only one who knows the entire story is my older sister Kayoko." Her eyes lost focus for a moment. "I finally completely unloaded on her, and thank heavens, she listened with an open mind. But she really didn't have any solutions."

"Those, I am afraid, must come from within yourself," Roarke told her. "However, I think it's a positive step that you've told a relative." He read her skittish expression and deftly changed the subject. "You ladies may get started on the entertainment plans at any time. Leslie, if you would, please, be back here by four at the latest. I have an appointment that may take some time, so if I have not returned by dinnertime, you and Michiko should eat without me."

"All right, Father," Leslie agreed. "Well, Michiko, let's go see George at the supper club. He still has a piano bench full of music."

‡ ‡ ‡

Word got around very quickly that Michiko Tokita was making an appearance at the luau, and when she stepped onstage she found herself facing a decidedly large audience. It seemed to draw forth extra energy from her, as Leslie commented to Roarke from the side of the makeshift stage where they stood watching. "Look at her. She's in her element."

Roarke nodded a little, his expression pensive. "So it would appear. Unfortunately, I am not altogether sure whether that's good or bad." He stood absently listening to Michiko sing for a moment or two, then turned to Leslie. "It's been nagging at me ever since she first spoke with us at breakfast the other morning. I sense that she still hasn't told us the full story of her retreat here. If you can, Leslie, try to get at the heart of the matter. Perhaps she will confide in you and explain why she left Arcolos in such a rush, at this time."

"But she did," Leslie said, confused. "She's afraid of becoming queen."

"Yes, but why? What is it about being crowned queen that so frightens her?" Roarke clarified. He looked back up at Michiko again, then straightened his stance as if to leave. "If she doesn't volunteer the information on her own, you may have to ask her some direct—and very difficult—questions. Keep that in mind when you speak with her again."

Leslie nodded, biting her lip. "All right, Father," she agreed, with some reluctance.

Roarke smiled reassuringly. "I seem to recall that you told me, the evening of your very first day of school here, that Michiko was the first person to make friendly overtures to you. I've seen in the ensuing years that, while you consider all your friends to be good friends, you and Michiko are a little closer because of that. I daresay you have enough leeway to presume on that close friendship. It may be the only way to solve the problem."

"I guess you're right," Leslie conceded. "And it's true enough, Michiko knows a few things I've never told any of the other girls. I just hope she doesn't hold a permanent grudge against me when I start really prying!"

Roarke chuckled. "I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. For now, if you'll excuse me, I must make a check on one of the fantasies. You may remain if you prefer." She nodded again, and he departed; Leslie turned her full attention to her friend's concert and let herself enjoy it without being distracted by other matters.

Michiko wound up her show about 11:30, roughly half an hour before the end of the luau, and thanked everyone who had come; she even paused to sign some autograph books and CDs. But Leslie could see that she was tired, and when it looked as if her fans might linger, she got onstage and apologized on Michiko's behalf, saying humorously that her friend needed to recharge her batteries. The assembled crowd dispersed good-naturedly, and Leslie and Michiko started back for the main house at a slow ramble.

"You did good, friend," Leslie said with a grin.

"I had such a wonderful time," Michiko remarked contentedly. "I haven't performed live in so long, I had almost forgotten what a natural high it can be." She let her head fall back a little and inhaled deeply of the tropical night air. "Oh, Leslie, it feels so good to be home again. I've missed the exotic aromas here, and the peacocks yelling at each other from the jungle, and the night crier serenading me to sleep every night…and being able to get together with you and the other girls on a whim. Did you know the sound of the charter plane coming in was a signal to me, all the way through my school years, that my weekend had officially begun? And after I became friends with you, I'd imagine you going to the plane dock with Mr. Roarke and Tattoo, getting in on the fantasies, and I didn't dread Mondays so much anymore because I knew we'd all get the scoop at lunch that day."

Leslie smiled slightly, but there was a strange sensation in her stomach, as of something very heavy sitting there. "Well," she said, forcing lightness into her voice, "as you can see, not very much has changed around here."

"No, thankfully," Michiko agreed wholeheartedly. "It makes being home that much sweeter. Arcolos is nice enough…but there aren't any peacocks, and it gets so incredibly hot in the summer months. July and August are especially bad. And since the palace is inland, I can't just run down to the nearest beach and cool off in the ocean." She bit her lip, visibly sinking into melancholy, and added softly, "And most of all, I miss the night crier."

Leslie, unsure of what to say, searched her mind, letting the silence stretch out for a few beats. Gathering her courage, she said at last, "Would having peacocks and some of the more fragrant flora make Arcolos seem less alien to you, maybe?"

Michiko gave her a surprised look, then shrugged. "I don't know, I never thought about it," she said carelessly. "Anyway, I don't know if the climate is comparable. Not that it matters, when you get right down to it. There's nowhere in the world like Fantasy Island. And the longer I stay, the more I want to stay for good."

That gave Leslie pause, and the heavy feeling in her stomach resolved itself into a sort of budding panic. Worse than the idea of what she saw as bludgeoning the core truth out of Michiko was the realization that she didn't necessarily want to see Michiko leave—and she knew she was going to have to have a very long talk with Roarke, in private.

Both women fell silent the rest of the way back to the main house, and both quietly bid Roarke good night before retreating upstairs. Roarke noticed his daughter's strange mood and frowned, watching her follow Michiko up the steps. He could wait until he knew there was privacy for them; he doubted she'd be able to fall asleep under the strain of whatever was on her mind.

So it was almost 12:30 when he completed the current paperwork and decided to leave the rest for the next day. He had expected Leslie to be awake yet, but not to the point where she was sitting in her window seat, as he discovered when he looked into her room. "Leslie, if you wish to talk, feel free," he said quietly.

She looked around and smiled sheepishly. The room was dark, but the blue-white light of a street lamp some distance down the lane provided just enough illumination for them to see each other. "Come on in, Father," she said and sighed heavily, shifting in her seat till she was facing him. He took a seat in her rocking chair.

"What's on your mind?" he asked. "Did you speak with Michiko?"

Leslie bit her lip and looked away, out the window. "I meant to," she said softly. "We came home together after she finished her concert, and she started waxing poetic about all the things she misses here. She admitted to me that the longer she stays, the more she wants to make it permanent."

"I see," said Roarke neutrally, waiting for her to go on.

"I'm turning into a selfish brat," Leslie said unexpectedly after a pause, surprising Roarke with the apparent non sequitur. She sounded disgusted with herself, and he almost smiled, sitting relaxed in her chair. "I ought to know better. I'm 33 years old, for crying out loud." She finally turned to Roarke and explained, "I couldn't go on with those questions. When Michiko made that last statement of hers, I realized that I don't really want to see her leave, either. I've missed her—we all have. I'd be thrilled if she stayed here…damn it." The last two words were a resigned mutter, and this time Roarke did smile, amused. "But she has responsibilities and obligations—don't we all?—and hers just happen to lie on the other side of the world. That's all there is to it."

"You sound," Roarke observed lightly, "as if you are trying to convince yourself."

Leslie made a _hmph_ noise and murmured, "Maybe I am. Maybe I have to."

Roarke leaned forward then in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees, as he sometimes did when in confidence to her. "Leslie, has it occurred to either you or Michiko to consider the ramifications if she should decide to remain? By that, I don't necessarily mean the shirking of the responsibilities and obligations you mentioned; those are obvious. No, in this case, I ask if she even knows whether it's possible. Not so much because Prince Errico will refuse to let her go: more because Arcolosian law may preclude it."

Leslie stared at him. "But that's barbaric! Honestly, Arcolosian law is at least two hundred years behind the rest of the world. I don't see how they justify it. You can't be telling me that this is completely unprecedented."

Roarke loosed a quiet huff of amusement and said, "I won't argue with you on that point, my child; but, knowing what we do, it very well may be. Perhaps, if it will help to soothe your bruised conscience in any way, I can investigate the matter and find out exactly what Arcolosian history has to tell us—merely for the sake of argument, you understand. You are undoubtedly well aware of my stand on the issue."

"I should think that'd go without saying," Leslie replied dryly, and his chuckle made her grin. "Okay, Father, I'd appreciate it—to satisfy my curiosity, if nothing else. It might give me some extra ammunition when I finally get up the guts to make Michiko face the situation once and for all."

"Are you certain that you will be able to tell her the right thing, Leslie?" Roarke asked, suddenly very serious. "Before you confront Michiko, you had better examine your own feelings with great care, and resolve that inner conflict of yours completely."

Leslie gave him a self-mocking look, matching it with her tone of voice. "Well, that shouldn't be too hard. I've got all night to do it."

Roarke sat back, laughing softly. "Grave though the issue is, don't let it keep you awake until dawn. You have other things on your agenda besides that talk with Michiko, so be sure to get some sleep. Morning is soon enough to wrestle with it." He got up and started out, pausing long enough to lean over and drop a paternal kiss atop her head. "Everything will work out, as long as you keep a clear head—and the proper perspective."

"Message received, boss," Leslie said playfully, sending him from the room still laughing to himself. She grinned and pulled down the window shade, finally getting into bed and falling asleep quickly despite all that was on her mind.


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- August 23, 1998

Michiko looked different at breakfast the next morning, as if she had resolved something; Roarke and Leslie both sensed the change in her mood and looked at each other meaningfully. Clearly it was time to bring things to a head. When breakfast was over, Roarke returned to the study to do the investigating he'd spoken of with Leslie the night before, and she took Michiko in hand. "Come on, you and I are going to talk," she said firmly.

"About what?" Michiko asked. Her voice carried an uneasy wobble and Leslie caught it; she gave the princess a mildly exasperated look.

"No more stalling, Michiko—all kidding aside. It's time to take a good hard look at the situation. You have nine days before Errico's coronation, and you have absolutely got to make a hard-and-fast decision one way or the other. My morning's free, so this is as good a time as any." Leslie led Michiko to a jeep that sat in the lane, gestured at her to get into the passenger seat, and got behind the wheel. Michiko stared at her till they were some way down the Ring Road, looking as if she'd been dragooned.

"What're you doing, kidnapping me?" she asked, half seriously.

"After a fashion, yes," Leslie said affably, piloting the jeep along the road toward her own favorite thinking spot, a small secluded lagoon with a couple of broad, flat rocks that were perfect for perching and dangling feet in the turquoise pool. "This is going to drive you crazy till it gets thrown out in the open. So we're going to do it now."

Michiko frowned, but sat in silence till Leslie had parked the jeep and led the way down a short, narrow trail that opened all at once onto the site of the little lagoon. Then she stopped in her tracks and gaped. "How did you find this place?"

"A lot of exploring," Leslie said with a grin, "especially when something was really bugging me and I just wanted to be alone. Father has his Bella Glen—which I still haven't seen, by the way—and this is my spot. Come on over here and sit down, and take off your shoes. The water here is always nice and cool, and it never fails to make my feet feel better, no matter how sore they might be." She beckoned at Michiko with mock impatience. "Come on, slowpoke!"

Michiko grinned at that and jogged over to join Leslie, removing her shoes on the way and lowering herself onto the rock beside her friend. Cautiously she dipped her toes in the water and smiled widely. "Oh gosh, yes, that does feel good."

Leslie gave a nod of satisfaction, tugged off her sandals and took a seat. Wiggling her toes in the water, she turned to Michiko. "Okay, first and foremost, you looked like you'd made some kind of decision this morning. So what was it?"

Michiko breathed in, slowly and deeply, and said in a flat voice, "I think I'm going to stay. I'm all but certain of it."

"Why?" Leslie asked.

Michiko's eyes filled with tears and promptly overflowed. "I'm homesick, Leslie," she burst out. "I just want to come home. I'm overwhelmed and I need to find _me_ again."

Leslie cleared her throat, wondering what she meant by that. "Think about what you're saying. Do you still want to be Errico's wife and his children's stepmother? This is aside from being princess or queen. Do you?"

"I love him, and I love the kids," Michiko said, brushing impatiently at her tears.

"I know that. But do you still want to be wife and stepmother?" Leslie persisted.

Michiko turned away, tears flowing faster. "Leslie, don't…"

Leslie swallowed hard and tried to steel herself. _It's for your own good, my friend._ "Well, then, tell me this. You say you're afraid of becoming queen. Why? What is it about being crowned that scares you so much?" she asked.

This earned her a betrayed look from Michiko. "Why are you doing this to me?" she cried. "I thought you were my friend!"

"I _am_ your friend," Leslie shot back, though she felt wrenched by Michiko's despair. "That's why I'm asking you all these questions. Michiko, you can't just throw everything away like this. Have you really considered what this would do to your husband and kids, or have you only considered that you'll finally be happy again?"

"I wasn't unhappy before," Michiko shouted, tears and anger mingling. "I keep telling you that I love them all!"

"If so, you wouldn't be thinking about deserting them," Leslie told her, trying to keep her voice even. In all the years they had been friends, they'd never exchanged angry words, and she was becoming frightened of the direction the conversation was going.

"I'm not—" Michiko cut herself off as the truth of Leslie's words sank in. "Oh my God, I guess I am," she whispered.

Leslie nodded, taking slow breaths in the hope of staving off empathetic tears. "I guess I don't have to ask this, but I will anyway. Have you ever told Errico your true feelings about this? If you opened up and talked with him, he might be able to help you. For that matter, he's about the only person on earth who really can. The rest of us, here, can listen, but there's nothing we can actually do."

For about thirty seconds all they heard was the trickling of the tiny waterfall that fed the pool and the distant calls of birds. Then Michiko took a deep, shuddering breath. "I can see your point, Leslie…but I don't think Errico can cure my homesickness. And besides, even if he could give me answers, what if they're not good ones?"

"How do you know till you ask him?" Leslie countered logically. "I kind of think you owe it to him to tell him what you're feeling, and give him a chance to try to help you out. That's what a spouse is for, you know."

Michiko nodded, silent, staring into the pool and letting the tears run unchecked. Leslie scooted over on the rock and wrapped an arm around her friend's shoulders, hugging her close. "Listen, if you talk to Errico and you still decide to stay here, then that's up to you and we won't challenge you. But you've got to confide in him. It's only fair, since he and the kids will be directly affected by whatever decision you do make."

After a very long time, Michiko nodded faintly, her head hanging. "You're right, Leslie, I do owe him that." She looked tentatively up and asked in a tiny voice, "Could I make a call from the main house? I'll pay you."

"Forget that…just make the call. It'll be some of the best long-distance money we ever spent," Leslie said, grinning. "Want to stick around here for a bit and calm down some? I know it's going to be a nerve-racking call for you anyway, but you don't need that on top of being upset here and now."

"Thanks, Leslie…and you were right before. You _are_ my friend," Michiko said and smiled at her. Both women blushed and looked away, but at the same time they both felt that their friendship had grown immensely.

They lingered for another twenty minutes or so, then wandered back to the jeep and returned to the main house. Roarke was still there and looked up when they came in, smiling in greeting. "Hello, ladies."

"Hi, Father. Is it all right if Michiko calls Arcolos from here?" Leslie asked.

It had been a long time since she had seen Roarke look that surprised, and had to grin. Michiko giggled shyly as well and said, "I'm still not one hundred percent sure what I want to do, but Leslie did impress upon me that I need to talk this out with Errico."

"Quite so," Roarke said, "but if I am not mistaken, this morning you were ready to all but officially announce that you planned to remain here on the island. Is that still the case?"

"Well, I'm not ruling it out," Michiko hedged.

"Then perhaps you may wish to take this into account," Roarke said with a direct and faintly unnerving stare that Leslie had seen before—one that suggested he could read your mind at fifty paces. "I looked into various historical accounts, and it so happens that not one royal couple in Arcolos' entire history has ever obtained a divorce. Should you decide to ask Errico for one, you will add a new chapter to their history books, and I have little doubt that it will place you in an extremely unfavorable light."

Michiko stared at him, standing quite still and looking a little dazed by this bit of news. Roarke and Leslie both waited quietly while she processed it. It took a good five minutes before she asked in a small voice, "Is it against the law?"

"Not that I could ascertain," said Roarke, "but I suspect that you would find a divorce a very difficult thing to obtain, in your position. And in my admittedly limited experience, Errico would take it as the gravest offense you could possibly deal him."

Michiko shook her head hard in frustration. "I realize it's hard for you and Leslie to believe, Mr. Roarke, but I do love Errico and his children very much. I don't actually want to get a divorce…but I don't know how else to proceed. I just can't see myself as a queen."

"Why not?" Roarke asked her, his tone gently challenging. "Exactly what about being queen frightens you to the point that you would consider leaving your husband? Are the duties of a queen so different from those of a princess that you find it a great trial?"

Michiko closed her eyes and let her head drop till her soft black hair slipped around her face and nearly obscured it. When she spoke again, her voice was muffled but clearly filled with despondency. "I had to come back here now, while I still had the chance," she said. "When I become queen, I'll never be able to do it again!"

"What?" Leslie exclaimed in disbelief.

Michiko looked up, eyes shining with new tears. "King Androno hadn't left Arcolos in more than ten years when he died," she said miserably. "He simply ruled from the palace and never left the country. When Errico assumes the throne, it'll be the same way with him, and the only way I'll ever see my family or friends again is if you come and visit. For the rest of my life, I'll have to rely on my memories of Fantasy Island, because this will be the last time I can ever come back home. I'll be all but chained to the palace, and I'll have to watch Errico's brothers and my sister, and whoever Carlono eventually marries, do all the traveling and all the representation that Errico and I did while Androno was alive."

"This is something you know for a fact?" Roarke asked, his tone kind.

Michiko shrugged. "All I had to do was observe, Mr. Roarke," she said.

"But you don't know for sure," Leslie persisted, "do you?"

"What are you trying to say?" Michiko asked, her voice desultory, her demeanor that of one who has given up all hope.

Leslie picked up the phone receiver and handed it to her. "Call Errico right now, Michiko, and ask him. You have a perfect right to know what'll be expected of you as queen, you know, and you'll get the truth straight from the horse's mouth."


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- August 23, 1998

Michiko shrugged again and did as she was told, without comment. When the call went through, she shot Roarke and Leslie an apologetic glance and proceeded to conduct the entire call in Arcolosian, although they could tell when she was finally put in touch with her husband. As the call lengthened, however, Michiko's hopeless mood slowly became supplanted by amazement, then relief, then wide-eyed joy.

When she hung up, her eyes were glowing. Leslie pounced. "What'd he say?"

"First, Errico sends his greetings to you both," Michiko said. "I wanted to pass those on before I forgot. Oh my goodness, I had no idea I was so wrong. I feel like the biggest fool in existence."

"Oh?" prompted Roarke. "You'd better tell us, before Leslie bursts."

His dry remark earned him a dirty look from his daughter and a hearty laugh from Michiko. "What an idiot I am! It's not the way I thought it was at all. Errico said that the true reason Androno never left the country was because of his ill health. He told me that it's true that he himself will be more confined to home than he was as prince, but it's a totally different story in my case. As queen, I'll actually be required to travel even more than I did while I was a princess!" She threw her hands high into the air and twirled deliriously on one foot, making Roarke laugh and Leslie stare at her with her mouth open. "That means I can come home every year if I want to, and I plan on doing just that!"

"You nut case!" Leslie exploded, erupting out of her chair and enfolding her ecstatic friend in a bear hug. "You see, all that worry and fretting for nothing! Just for that, we're all going to _expect_ you to show up every year, no matter what!"

"I know, I know, but you can give me grief about it later," Michiko said, hugging Leslie back. Both of them were laughing. "I'll fly out Tuesday, as soon as I can get all the plane reservations in place…but before I go, I want to make sure you and all the other girls get the official word. Every single one of you is invited to the coronation—you, Leslie, all the girls, their husbands, their children, their pets even! And my parents and siblings and nieces and nephews are all getting invitations too. I want to share this with everyone I love! You should be there too, Mr. Roarke!"

Roarke grinned. "I appreciate the invitation very much, Michiko, and I wish I could accept. The notice is too short for me to make arrangements to take the trip…but of course, Leslie will go. She can officially represent Fantasy Island in my stead."

"That I will," Leslie said, and Roarke could see a particular anticipation in her eyes that heightened his amusement.

Michiko noticed too and snickered. "Don't worry, Leslie, I'll make sure it's Christian who gets the official invitation to the ceremony." She and Roarke both laughed at Leslie's disconcerted expression, and she added, "You're transparent, Leslie, you might as well face it. But there's not a thing wrong with it. In fact, I truly wish something would give so that you and he could finally get married. If I could grow amakarna, I'd do it myself."

Leslie smiled wistfully, and Roarke regarded Michiko warmly. "Your sentiments are welcome, Michiko," he said, "although unfortunately futile. Amakarna is simply too rare, too difficult to come by…and there are certain very strict rules governing its production. I won't go into that here. What matters is the spirit."

"It'll be enough just to see him," said Leslie. "As a matter of fact, if Father can spare me, I'll go back to Arcolos along with you. Maybe some of the other girls can go too."

‡ ‡ ‡

And so it was that, on September 2, Arcolos officially welcomed King Errico and Queen Michiko to the throne, with dignitaries from around the world in attendance. Just as Michiko had decreed, Leslie, their other friends with their families, and all the Tokitas were present to witness the coronation.

In an unexpected quiet moment during the enormous celebration that followed the ceremony, Leslie seized the opportunity to slip out onto the vast terrace that contained the palace swimming pool, looking for some fresh air and a moment or two alone. She had only a few seconds, though, before she sensed someone behind her. She smiled faintly: she'd know his cologne in her sleep.

"Come and look at the city lights with me, my Leslie Rose," Christian suggested into her ear. "Santi Arcuros is especially lovely at night."

"You've been here before?" Leslie asked, allowing him to lead her to the railing. The terrace was built at the top of a nearly sheer hillside, over a drop of some five hundred feet, with a wooded valley immediately below them and the outskirts of the city some distance beyond that. The uniform lights of residential developments thickened into the glittering splendor of the city proper as one's gaze drifted towards the horizon.

"Yes, several times," said Christian. "One day it will be with you, I promise." Hidden in the moonless night, he turned to her and softly kissed her. She leaned into him and he slipped an arm around her. Silently they admired the vista before them, savoring their few stolen moments and basking in each other's touch.

Then Christian drew her fully into his embrace and tightened his hold to the point that Leslie could feel him trembling, ever so slightly. "Are you all right?" she asked.

He muttered something in Swedish and sighed heavily. "It will be some time before I can speak with you again, my darling, even over e-mail," he said reluctantly. "Beginning at about mid-October, I am to embark on a very long round-the-world jaunt that is expected to last at least four months. It's a business matter. Arnulf wants to introduce textiles and handicrafts from Lilla Jordsö to the world market, and I've been elected to do it." He gave a short chuckle. "You should only see the list of countries I'll be traveling to. I think it was about thirty."

"Maybe one of them is Fantasy Island," Leslie suggested, knowing as she spoke that it wouldn't be. Arnulf would never allow her and Christian that much contact.

"We both know better, my Rose," Christian said softly, burying his face in her hair. "I already feel exhausted just thinking about this journey, and all I know is that it will be draining, dreadful drudgery."

"Nice choice of words," Leslie teased him, but her attempt to lighten the mood fell resoundingly flat and she gave in to Christian's melancholy. She wrapped her arms snugly around him and settled her head on his shoulder. "Christian, honey, what's wrong? It can't be the prolonged lack of contact between us—besides, I see no reason you couldn't e-mail me now and then from some of the places you'll be visiting."

"Perhaps, but if I were you I wouldn't count on it," Christian warned regretfully. "And I don't have access to the royal treasury, remember—I have to live on what I make as a computer specialist. That means that right now I just can't afford one of the new portable computers. I expect Arnulf to pay me well for this excursion, because I won't be able to attend to my own business the entire time I'll be gone."

Leslie giggled. "Sic Marina on him," she said. "Have her tell him that both of you are holding out for substantial remunerations in return for your being at his beck and call."

That finally drew a laugh from Christian and he squeezed her, rocking her back and forth. "A very good idea…I just might act on it. Oh, Leslie…" His mood dropped back into blue again and he cradled her close. "How much longer will we have to endure this forced separation? Some cruel fate is deliberately keeping us apart, I think."

"Don't dwell on it," Leslie said, hearing a certain lack of conviction in her own voice. "There's nothing we can do about it, and if we let it rule our every thought, we'll never survive the wait." She drew back enough to study his face in the faint light reflected from Santi Arcuros. "Whatever happens, Christian, always remember I love you."

"I will…and I love you too, my Leslie Rose. I'll always love you." Once more Christian planted a soft kiss on her lips, and let it linger till they heard voices from the ballroom, coming uncomfortably close. Just before he released her, Christian repeated the sentiment in his native tongue. _"Jag älskar dig, min Leslie."_

She watched him go and drew in a long breath. Separation or no, his love gave her a small but solid light to focus on, and she treasured that. Slowly she headed back to the ballroom in his wake, searching for her friends in the crowd.

_Little do they know it, but Roarke and Leslie are about to endure a long siege. Faces from Roarke's past will pop up, secrets will be revealed, and lives will be endangered…then changed substantially. How will the changes affect them? Stay tuned…_


End file.
